Starry Night
by ReveledSky
Summary: "Draco loved to paint. He said it helped him escape. I teased him for it and nicknamed him 'Vincent.' He pretended to hate it... but it always made him smile."


So... I started writing this after watching the this Drarry video that uses the same song

y o u t u b e . c o m /watch?v=zGmL7ZiOtmc&feature=mh_lolz&list=PL6E83A065DE94C226 (credit to the maker for the summary I used for my story and the inspiration)

That vid broke my heart, and I wanted to translate that into short fic... I hope I've succeeded...

I could see him from where I stood in the kitchen, watching as he toiled over the canvas. Soft afternoon light played on his light blonde hair and caught the grey in his eyes as he looked up briefly and tried to smile. Draco turned back, dipped the brush into a solemn shade of grey and set it free onto the empty white space. Hours would be spent like this, with sad shades of paint and something darker weighing heavy on his mind. Most of his paintings were solemn, the hues filled with blues and blacks. He said it helped him get away... And I was careful to not push beyond that. He was always so guarded with his emotions. I tried to talk to him once... and he just shut down.

"Working on your "Starry Night", my Vincent?," I teased, seeing him feign annoyance. He always liked to pretend he hated it... that it pissed him off, but I could always catch his smile before he locked it away. I knew it always made him smile.

"This... it's just practice. I... I-," he fell quiet, turning towards me like he desperately wanted to say more... like something was eating away at him inside. His eyes left mine and returned to the acrylics, brush dancing across the canvas again, carrying an unusual shade of red. His shoulders shuddered, weighed down by whatever was troubling him, and a sigh escaped his lips.

"You ok?," Draco wasn't usually bright and chipper, but he seemed especially melancholy that morning.

"It's nothing..." he didn't even look back as he pushed the red around some more.

"Ok...," I didn't want to accept that answer... I didn't want to watch him turn to his paintings instead of me, but Draco always did get his way... even when it wasn't in his best interest. He spent the next few days at the canvas, eating very little and saying even less as the hours ticked by.

"Draco...," he looked up, his tired grey eyes meeting with mine, his beautiful face smeared with paint and a glum expression... but he said nothing.

"Talk to me...," he lowered his head and returned to his work, still silent... We didn't talk for hours, the only sound being his brush moving across the canvas and my own pulse in my ears. I could only watch helplessly as those greys and blues formed into recognizable shapes.

"You know you can talk to me, right Draco? I know we haven't always been this close...," that coaxed a small chuckle from him.

"But I'm always here... for whatever," I heard him sigh, the light catching his watery eyes as he stared down at the brush in his hand.

"You can't help me Harry... You wouldn't understand...," he turned back to his painting. I swore I heard him whisper he was sorry, but I never knew for sure. The next morning we were at the train station, waiting for the train back to Hogwarts. The school year would be a cruel and difficult time spent away from him, spent pretending I hated him... if only I had known just how cruel it would be.

He stepped onto the train with his painting in his hands. A cloth was draped over it so I couldn't see the finished piece, and it left me insatiably curious... Draco never used many colors in his paintings; especially red. I locked eyes with him for a moment and he managed a smile. From that moment, our act was back on. No one at school knew we were friends... let alone more than that. There were just too many people who wouldn't understand.

I watched as he disappeared into another part of the train, catching a glimpse of his face one last time before the divider slid closed behind him. The only word that fits how he looked that day was haunted. It left an uneasy feeling in my stomach and a knot in my throat to part with him like that... If only I had known. The weeks crawled by, classes and homework offering only a mild distraction. I'd see Draco in the halls occasionally, and he always managed a smile; a cold, haunted smile.

The season turned as icy as the blue of his eyes, and soon we would be together again... a long holiday break was exactly what he needed. I promised myself I'd get a genuine smile out of him by Christmas. Oh how I wish I could have kept that promise to myself... and to Draco. The night we left for Malfoy Manor, he was carrying a painting with him again, clutching it protectively in his hands and starting out the window.

"Is that a new painting or...?," my voice was low and hushed. He looked up at me and shook his head, the stars shining through the window onto his soft, pale skin. I marveled at his beauty for a moment... to think something to beautiful was sitting right there in front of me. That he'd walked the very same school hallways I had. I felt my heart speed up a little and I was unable to keep the smile from my own lips. He snuck a glance in my direction and I reached out my hand, fingers entwining with his like they'd always belonged there. Silence fell between us for the rest of the ride, that haunted look still hiding behind a half-hearted smile.

Narcissa woke me from my uneasy dreams later that night... She pulled me from my bed, that same haunted look now on her face. I felt my heart push into my throat... felt it thump against my chest... my hands shaking. It was as if she were looking through me, into the core of my soul as she grabbed my hands and opened her mouth to speak.

"Harry-"

"What have you done..." Lucious was now standing beside her, my eyes fixed on him in a silent rage.

"I haven't done anything, Potter," his eyes were cold... So empty and heartless, a stark contrast to Draco's.

"_WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!_," I ripped my hands from Narcissa's grip and pushed past them. The door to his room crashing against the wall, I'd shoved it so hard the doorknob had ripped a hole in it. I looked to his bed, but it was empty and the blankets hadn't been touched. My heart was pounding against my ribs now… eyes frantically searching the dark room for any sign of him… and that's when I saw it. A faint glimmer in near the bathroom door. Water had gathered on the carpet there.

I swallowed hard as I touched the handle, pushing the door open and fighting against something heavy. I looked at first to the chair that had been propped against the door to keep someone out… and then I saw the tub. Then I saw a pale hand hanging over the edge of it, fingers dripping with blood.

My knees hit the floor, pants quickly soaked through as a scream ripped from my lungs. Someone grabbed me, holding me, and coddling me like a child as the tears pour from my eyes. I threw my glasses aside, my face buried in my hands. I was carried away that night… managing only to ask for Draco's wrapped canvas as they dragged me from the house. Grimmauld's place was now my cage… holding me with it's walls as the Mafloy's prepared for the funeral. They never asked me for input… they never even got to know he didn't die without knowing love… without having me. The days leading up to the burial were spent in an uncomfortable chair, mere feet from the wrapped canvas, agonizing over just touching it… It was the last thing he'd worked on before… before he…

Fighting the lump in my throat, I reached out a pulled the cloth away, smelling Draco in the very fabric. I clutched it close to my heart, tears welling as I looked upon his final piece… and saw just where that unusual red color had gone. I was looking at a painting of myself, impeccably detailed and accurate… I was also looking at Draco. He was smiling, his hands wrapped tightly around me… that haunted looked nowhere to be found in his beautiful grey eyes. But I could see through him… he wasn't quite solid. A sob wretched from my lungs as I dropped to my knees and read the words he'd scribbled at the bottom.

"I'll leave you on a Starry Night… but I'll wait for you forever, Harry." - Vincent

I sat there on that Christmas morning… in a way I'd kept my promise. He was smiling in his painting… but I would never smile again. For eighteen months I fought to keep that very same haunted look from my face. For eighteen months I barely held on. And finally… finally Voldemort lay dead at my feet … he lay as dead as my heart inside.

They would find me laying in front of Draco's painting a few days later, his paint box clutched in my bloody hands, the haunted look now gone from my face… replaced instead with a smile of relief. I was with my Vincent once again… and nothing would ever change that.


End file.
